None of this I heeded; I only knew that my enemies had got the mastery, and that ruin was upon me.  So I ground my teeth and was mute.

Then they cut my bonds and I stood free, but cared not.  Nor did I stir from my place; and a look of surprise crossed Eanulf’s face.  But Ealhstan the Bishop, knowing well, I think, what was in my mind, rose from his seat, and came to me, laying his hands on my shoulders.  I would have shaken them off; but be kept them there gently, and spoke to me.

“Heregar, my son,” he said, and his words were like the cool of a shower after heat, to my burning brain, “be not cast down in the day of your trouble overmuch.  There are yet things for you to do in this world of ours, and the ways of men are not all alike.  Foolish you have been, Heregar, my son, but the Lord who gave wisdom to Solomon the youth, will give to you, if you will ask Him.  Go your way in peace, and if you will heed my words, take your trouble to some wise man of God, and so be led by his counsel.  And, Heregar,” and here the bishop’s voice was for me alone, “if you need forgiveness, forgive if there is aught by you to be forgiven.”

Then I knew that the bishop, at least, believed in my innocence, and my hard heart bent before him, though my body would not.  He laid his hand on my head for one moment, and so left me.

One of my father’s old friends rose up and said: 

“Ealdorman, he is unarmed.  Give him that which will keep him from wanton attack, or from the wolves, even if it be but a thrall’s weapons.”

Eanulf signed assent.

On that they gave me a woodman’s billhook, and a seax, [iii] such as the churls wear, and one thrust a good ash, iron-shod quarterstaff into my hands.  Then my guards led me away from the assembly, and set my face towards the downward path.  Once again the old man spoke to me with words of good counsel.

“Keep up heart, master.  Make for Cornwall, and turn viking with the next Danes who come.”

I would not answer him, but walked down the hill a little.  Then the bitterness of my heart overcame me, and I turned, and shaking my staff up at the hill, cursed the Moot deeply.

So I went—­an outlaw.

CHAPTER II.  THE FIGHT WITH TWO.

Now whither I went for the next two hours I cannot tell, for my mind was heedless of time or place or direction—­only full of burning hate of all men, and of Matelgar most of all.  And though that has long passed away from me, so that I may even think of him now as the pleasant comrade in field and feast that he once was, I wonder not at all I then felt; for this treachery had come on me so unawares, and was so deep.

Wherever it was I wandered it took me away from men, and at last, when I roused myself to a knowledge again of the land round me, I was hard on the borders of Sedgemoor Waste; and the sun was low down, and near setting.